


A Ride

by dessysalta



Category: Star Fetchers (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Death, F/F, Insults, Major Character Injury, Other, Play Star Fetchers, References to Drugs, She's Probably Fine, Team Bonding, mentions of smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 11:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30088107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dessysalta/pseuds/dessysalta
Summary: Zambezi kicked some ass. Sanyati realizes she's hurt. Cue bonding!
Relationships: Sanyati/Zambezi
Kudos: 1





	A Ride

**Author's Note:**

> First work, woot! Sorry if my writing style throws you off or if the wording's a little weird. Still getting the hang of this! 
> 
> This was made before episode one was released. That, and I headcanon a few specific things about how the two act (in general, and around the other).
> 
> Zambezi is female, San is enby! Using F/F just because, though.
> 
> You probably shouldn't read this if you're 14.

_“You bitch,”_ a harsh, ragged voice spoke. It was low and masculine, with hints of a higher pitch sprinkled throughout the scratchiness. The body it belonged to was battered and beaten; bleeding from several wounds and bones broken and aching. What used to be a strong, almost “confident” body type (if you could call it that) was now little more than a red rag of flesh and blood.

Across, a similarly low yet feminine voice replied:

_“Only call me what you feel like,”_ In a sing-song tone, _“Cause ain’t nobody else gonna be saying it.”_

The man fell to his knees, the concrete beneath him hard and cold. He could feel each and every crevice and crack dig into his knees, causing even more discomfort than the pain did. Weakly, he reached for a weapon﹣any weapon﹣and hoped to whatever god there was that he could use it. Fortunately, he found one. Unfortunately, it was a broken firearm that was no better than a club. Fruitless, he dropped it. A loud clatter erupted from where it hit.

The other drew near, slowly. Her footfalls were quiet, even in the heat of the moment. Her own body was bloody, just as beaten and broken as the man’s was. The only difference was she was still standing, and with little effort at that. Her willpower was significantly greater than his, that much was clear. But did she deserve it?

He would have tried to swing, to get up, or really to perform any action, but it was useless. His knees buckled and planned on staying that way, with head hung like a dead man’s. He forced it up, blind eyes meeting his captor’s.

_“What are you?”_ He asked, quietly. It echoed in the room, rebounding off the walls and making for a sickening feeling.

The female didn’t respond. She simply raised her blade, calculated the angle, and met her mark. The man went down without a struggle, not like he could have given one.

As the now-corpse slumped to the floor, she found herself stepping back. Tensing. It lasted only a second, but it was noticeable. Enough to make her scowl. With bared, sharp teeth, she sheathed her weapon and kicked the body aside. And with that, she trailed over to the wall and sat down. If she were older, she would have lit a cigarette. As it stood, she didn’t feel comfortable with the idea.

The room was cold and damp. It had been bleached by the sun at one point, but with the installation of a roof and insulation, that quickly came to an end. In the weather of the city, any insulated area quickly became something not unlike a freezer in the winter, and uncomfortably hot in the summer. Was it a meat locker, or a garage? The concrete said one thing﹣the tiles said another. Even the smell of meat could be confused with an odd scent or simple plague of the mind.

Just as she had gotten comfortable, a new individual entered. She recognized them, happy to have seen their face.

_“Zambezi?”_ A not-quite-masculine-nor-feminine voice rang out. It was questioning, and slightly worried. 

_“That’s my name.”_ A dry laugh came from her lips, followed by a cough. It’d be best to get up and leave, especially considering her wounds. Something kept her, though. But what?

The newest individual stepped through and over droplets (and pools) of blood, discarded fabric, and the nubs of what could have either been hand-rolled cigarettes or weed. With people like this around, it was likely both. 

It wasn’t their first time on the job, nor the last, but the sight of dead bodies and severed limbs would never, ever sit right.

_“...You’ve been busy.”_ They tried, though it came out more awkward or nervous than anything.

_“As always.”_ Zambezi didn’t smile this time, as much as she wanted to.

Sanyati never knew where to start, short of protest and various anxieties (or, in rare cases, obscenities). Instead of bickering and arguing, they instead turned their attention to Zambezi’s wounds, which were growing worse by the second.

_“You’re hurt,”_ They said. _“Badly, at that.”_

_“And?”_ Zambezi replied, though still couldn’t quite tell why she said what she did. _“Where’s the harm in this?”_

Sanyati had to do a double-take at that, blinking twice before responding.

_“The...risk of death and infection?”_ They said, bewildered. _“Or- or more likely just the risk of missing out on something you otherwise had planned?”_ The shortness in their tone was apparent.

_“Meh,”_ Zambezi shrugged it off as though it were nothing, though truly she could have done a better job at it. _“I hurt like hell and I don’t feel like getting up just yet. I doubt I’ll die from this.”_

_Maybe,_ Sanyati wanted to say. _But that doesn’t mean lasting damage is out of the question. If it were up to me, I’d use a belt to-_

Suddenly, Zambezi grunted, placed her feet flat on the ground, hands on the wall, then pushed. She rose quickly, a yelp of pain emitted in the process.

_“Fuck me,”_ She said. _“This stings like a bee.”_ She was coming to realize how ignorant and asinine her previous remarks were, most certainly because of the near-excruciating pain she felt across her body. It hadn’t clicked in her head yet, but adrenaline had been the only thing keeping her on her feet. No amount of willpower can stop your body from crumpling in the event of mind-numbing afflictions.

Sanyati was speechless. First she insisted she was fine, and then she turned around and said the opposite. Zambezi was off the charts, for sure﹣but not this badly. Usually, at the very least. Something was wrong. They’d ask later, though, as now was not the time.

Meanwhile, Zambezi was hobbling over to Sanyati with a look of regret and frustration plastered on her face. She threw an arm around them when she had the chance, ideally to take some weight off of her feet.

_“I- hey, a little warning?”_ Sanyati asked rhetorically, having not expected it.

_“Quit your bitching, I’m dying here.”_ This time, Zambezi’s laugh was full of energy. That was good, in a way. It meant she wasn’t dying as fast as the other individual had been. Then again, she should be saving that energy.

Sanyati groaned, reciprocated, and lifted Zambezi up as best they could. While sporting incredible hypersense and innate physical ability, strength was ironically not their strongest suit. Zambezi didn’t mind too much, from the looks of it. Though her energy was fleeting, she could still push herself up enough to make it doable for San. 

_Of course she doesn't know her limits. I wonder why I bunk with her, sometimes._ Sanyati huffed.

_“I sometimes wonder what you would do without me,”_ San said, huffing in exasperation. _“You’re not the most eager to have me around, but I think I keep you from getting yourself killed in some respect.”_

_That,_ Zambezi thought. _That’s what kept me sitting. The idea of…_

_“Maybe.”_ She admitted, out loud. She was hopping on one leg, now. _“Sometimes I do too.”_ Another rather hearty chuckle came from her.

San would have turned red, but the situation was dire. Instead, they focused on hauling their friend out of the place that had almost cost them their life. She could last a few minutes. Likely. If they knew it, they would have performed first aid on her the second they laid eyes on her. As it stood, they barely knew how to thread a needle.

_“You worry me.”_ San said.

_“I worry me.”_ Zambezi replied, with far less humor than before. She closed her eyes, focusing less on the destination and more on helping San carry her.

Another sigh. _“Let’s not do this again, yeah?”_ San couldn’t stop themself from saying.

_“...Yeah.”_ Zambezi agreed.


End file.
